


the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

by badtemperedchocolate



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 22:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21233864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtemperedchocolate/pseuds/badtemperedchocolate
Summary: or, that time they met in high school.





	the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

**Author's Note:**

> big s/o to 40millionyears for helping immensely, from brainstorming ideas to simply encouraging me to keep plugging away at this.
> 
> this fic is just that: fictional. not real. totally fake.

_fall 2003_

_a high school in New Jersey_

Brad wakes up in his desk to find Mrs. Jansen watching him with raised eyebrows, her arms folded.

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Leone.”

He grins sheepishly as his classmates laugh. “Sorry.”

“You’re just in time to sign up for the science fair,” she informs him. “I take it you don’t have a partner yet?”

“Uh, no.”

“All right.” She scans the class roster in her hands. “You can work with Claire.”

Mrs. Jansen moves on, and Brad looks around the class, seeing the dark-haired girl in the front row looking back at him with an unreadable expression. He offers her a grin but she doesn’t smile back, just looks back down at her textbook.

He doesn’t know her well, but Claire’s the only junior in this senior course, and he’s pretty sure she has straight A’s in every class, including this one.

Brad slumps back over his desk and shrugs. Well, could be worse. He knows her type. She’ll probably do all the work herself, and he’ll get an A, too.

He celebrates by going back to sleep.

* * *

On his way out of school that afternoon, Brad walks past the science room to see his new partner inside, books clasped to her chest. She’s facing away from him, and he hovers outside the door as she pleads with Mrs. Jansen.

“_Please_,” he hears her say. He thinks this might be the first time he’s ever heard her talk. “Please, I’ll work by myself. But I _can’t_ work with him.”

“Now, Claire –”

“I don’t want to get a C just because he’s an idiot who doesn’t care!”

Mrs. Jansen tilts her head, folding her arms. “Don’t you think that’s a little judgmental, Claire?”

“He wasn’t even awake in class today! You had to wake him up!” Claire grumbles. “You _know_ I’m going to end up doing all the work anyway. He’s not going to help.”

“Sounds like you’re making assumptions.”

“Mrs. Jansen, _please –_”

Their teacher nods slowly. “Okay. Here’s what I want: give it a shot. Just give it a try, see if you two can make it work. And if you come to me with proof that it’s really impossible, we’ll figure out a different solution. Okay? But you have to give him a try before you throw in the towel.”

The girl sighs. “Okay. I guess.”

“There we go.” The science teacher smiles. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

Brad ducks away from the door and hightails it down the hallway before Claire can turn and see him.

As much as he shrugs it off when everyone else calls him an idiot, there was something in her voice that hit him. Like she doesn’t even think he’s worth talking to. Like he’s just a waste of space, just some dumbass who’s not worth her time.

He doesn’t care all that much about school, but he also doesn’t like being dismissed by a cute girl who thinks he’s useless. Who apparently already knew that he was going to let her do all the work anyway, and resented it enough to try and get rid of him before they even talked to each other.

Well. He’ll show her.

He’ll at least try.

* * *

After dinner that night, Brad takes one look at his English homework and decides that literally anything would be better. So he grabs the school directory and flips through it until he finds her home number.

After the second ring, someone picks up the phone, and he hears a woman’s voice. “Saffitz residence.”

“Hi, this is Brad Leone. From school. Um – is Claire there?”

“She is, dear. Can I ask what this is about?”

“I’m in her science class. I, uh. We’re working together. For the science fair.”

“Oh, how nice! Hang on, I’ll go get her.” He hears her set the phone down, and after a long moment, someone else picks it up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Claire?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s Brad. From school.”

“Oh.” She sounds surprised. Like she wasn’t expecting the big oaf who slept through class to voluntarily make first contact. “Hi.”

“Hey. I wanted to ask – do you wanna talk about the science fair?” He flops back on the couch, twisting the phone cord around his fingers. “I thought maybe, y’know. We could figure out what we wanna do.”

“I – uh – sure.” She still sounds skeptical, but then her voice brightens. “Do you want to meet before school? I’ll be there at 7.”

He grimaces silently. _Way_ too early. But he heard the challenge in her voice. She thinks she’s going to get rid of him with an early meeting, doesn’t she? She’s going to go to Mrs. Jansen and claim Brad’s some lazy asshole who can’t be bothered.

_Game on_.

“That’s fine.”

“Oh. Okay. Uh – good.” She clears her throat. “Do you want to meet in the study hall?”

“Yep. See you tomorrow.”

* * *

In the grand scheme of things, Brad thinks, he should get major points for only being three minutes late the next morning.

But of course Claire’s already sitting in a desk by the window, looking annoyed, and he gets the feeling she’s not impressed.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” She looks pointedly at the clock on the wall.

“Uh, sorry I’m late.” He drags a desk around to face hers and folds himself into it. The desks at this school suck. He’s 6’4” and he hasn’t been able to sit comfortably since he was a sophomore. “Traffic, ya know. Sucks.”

“Uh-huh.” She fixes him with an uncanny stare, the kind that says she’s perfectly aware that he hit the snooze button four times.

“So, uh, science.” He folds his arms, draping himself over the desk. “Do you have anything you really wanna do?”

“I made a list of ideas.” She pulls a sheet of paper out of her science book, and Brad fights the urge to roll his eyes at the neatly written, numbered, annotated list. Of course she did.

“Let’s see.” He scans the list. “Oh. This – some of these actually look kinda interesting.”

“I know.” She looks like she’s affronted that he doubted her. “I want to win.”

“That would be cool,” he agrees absently. “What’s this one?”

She peers at the paper. “Oh, the black hole? I don’t know. I thought it would be interesting to look at the galaxy, and what would happen if our Sun turned into a black hole.”

“You wanna do that?”

She shrugs. “I know it’s a long shot, but I just put it on there for the idea. It’s not like the Sun is big enough anyway, and I don’t know how we’d do it. We’d need a pretty substantial model that has moving parts and stuff.”

“We could build one,” he suggests.

She looks up at him, her eyes wide. “Really?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “So, like, planets that go around the Sun? They’d all have to be separate, but then they all get sucked into the black hole, right?”

She opens her mouth, like she’s about to correct him, but then she shrugs. “Well – basically.”

Brad nods. “We’d need a bunch of scrap wood and wire and stuff, and maybe a spare bike chain, but I think I can make it. My dad’s got a workshop and a bunch of tools. He lets me use ‘em.”

Claire beams at him, her smile bright and quick, and he’s not ready for the sudden rush of _something_ that hits him square in the chest. “If we really could – that would be awesome.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard.” He looks at her notes again. “A little tricky with the moving parts, but I can definitely make that.”

Claire looks delighted. “Okay. We should plan a time to start researching and drawing plans for the model.” She pulls a planner out of her backpack and flips through the pages to this week. “How about Saturday? You can come over and we can plan everything out.”

Brad’s not sure why they have to get started so quickly – the science fair’s not till December, jeez – but he’s pretty sure this is another test. Besides, she’s not trying to make him write some boring-ass paper; she’s going to let him build something cool. This is turning out better than he’d expected. “Sure.”

She jots down _science fair planning meeting_ in her agenda, and he digs a pen out of his pocket and scribbles _Sat. Claire science _on the back of his hand. She eyes him skeptically, but he shrugs. “I’ll remember.”

She still looks skeptical. “Okay.”

* * *

Saturday morning, Claire opens her front door to find Brad with his hand raised, mid-knock, backpack slung over one shoulder. He grins. “Hey. Ready to do science?”

“Ready.”

He follows her inside, looking around curiously. She bites her lip. “Can you – can you take your shoes off? My mom –”

“Hmm? Oh sure, no problem.”

He toes off his big sneakers and uses one foot to scoot them next to the front door, following her through the living room. The house is always tidy, so there’s nothing really out of place, but Brad seems oddly tall. Like he’s wandered in by accident.

Claire’s mom walks in, wiping her hands on a towel. “Hi, honey.”

Claire waves a hand between them. “Mom, this is Brad. We’re doing a project for the science fair.”

“Oh, of course. We spoke on the phone. Nice to meet you, Brad.”

“You too, Mrs. S.”

“Come on.” Claire nods at the dining room. “I pulled out some books.”

“Cool.”

She holds her breath, but thankfully her mom just smiles. “Let me know if you need anything, honey.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

* * *

On Sunday, Claire ends up at the Leone house.

She follows Brad into the shed out back, where he shows her the workbench, hand tools, table saw, power drills, and a whole host of tools she can’t even name. There’s a big stack of scrap wood set up against one wall, and Brad starts digging through it. “So we need a base, yeah? Something big, kinda sturdy. Got plenty of dowels, and then maybe we can use some wire.”

Claire sits back on the bench, leaning on her wrists. “So the orbits move around the Sun, but then when the Sun turns into a black hole, we need them to move inwards.”

“Right.” Brad nods slowly. “Hmm. Straight in?”

“No, in another round orbit.” Claire pulls out a folded paper from the pocket of her overalls and unfolds it, pointing to the sketches she had drawn up while they were working yesterday. “It turns into the accretion disc and circles the black hole before going in.”

“Oh, so like a corkscrew?”

“Kind of.”

“Okay.” Brad looks at the diagram. “I gotta think about that. We’re gonna want them on different levels, so they can move at the same time without hittin’ each other, and –”

The workshop door bangs open and his little sister leans in. “Hey Brad. Who’s your girlfriend?”

Brad cringes, but Claire doesn’t bat an eyelash. “I’m his science fair partner.”

“Oh. Okay.” Kristi turns back to Brad, unfazed. “Can you braid my hair?”

“No.” He has no idea how to braid hair. It looks way too complicated.

“I can,” Claire says. “Just a normal braid?”

“Yes please.” Kristi drags a chair in front of Claire and plops herself down on it. “I don’t know where Mom is. And Dad wasn’t sure how.”

Claire smiles, combing her fingers through Kristi’s hair before dividing it carefully in three sections. “My big sister taught me how.”

“I wish I had a sister,” Kristi says seriously, and Brad waves his arms.

“_Excuse_ me?”

“You’re fine. But you can’t braid my hair.”

“I guess you got a point,” he concedes.

Claire reaches the end of Kristi’s hair. “Do you have a hair tie?” The girl hands one over, and Claire fastens the end of the braid before patting her shoulder. “There you go. All done.”

“Thanks!” Kristi hops off the chair. “Your girlfriend’s nice, Brad.”

“She’s not –” But his sister’s already out the door. Brad sighs. “Sorry.”

Claire shrugs. “It’s okay.” Is it his imagination, or are her cheeks just the faintest shade of pink? “Where were we?”

* * *

The concept of a hypothetical solar system model complete with a black hole contingency plan sounds fantastic on paper. But then it comes time to start calculating, which means checking the specific orbital patterns of every planet and writing up a detailed chart.

It’s tedious work, and Claire’s fine with it – she’s already invested in the end result – but even though they’re both supposed to be working, and hypothetically that means it’ll take half the time, Brad’s spent most of his time grumbling rather than helping.

He sighs noisily, scribbling something incomprehensible across the page, and Claire finally just can’t stop herself from asking. “Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“You’re not stupid. But whenever it’s hard, you act like you can’t do it.” She tilts her head, looking at him curiously. He’s avoiding her gaze. _That’s_ not Brad. He’s the loudest, least hesitant person she knows. “I don’t know why you don’t think you have anything to offer. There’s no way I could have done all this alone.” She waves her hand at the models and diagrams and scattered parts across the table. “We’re good at different things, yeah. But you’re not an idiot.”

Brad stares at her with wide, startled eyes. This – this is new. The look on his face tells her she’s nailed it, and behind all the bluster and goofiness and class clownery, Brad Leone has a much stronger core.

“You’re _not _stupid,” she says again. “I know that.”

He huffs out something like a laugh. “Thanks. I guess.”

“So stop acting like you are.”

“_Jeez_, Claire. You’re so bossy.” But he’s grinning. Like he’s got it. He sits up straighter, and there’s determination on his face.

“When I have to be.” She sits back in her chair. “Okay. I’m going to go get a cookie. You want one?”

He shakes his head. “Cookies are for winners, Claire. We ain’t won yet.”

Claire laughs, dropping her pencil on the table. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

She pokes him in the arm as she walks towards the kitchen, and when she glances back over her shoulder, he’s smiling at her.

She grabs an extra cookie for him anyway.

* * *

It’s not long after that when Brad discovers Claire’s weakness.

She’s been mentioning things in passing, applications for summer programs and AP courses and early college admissions stuff. He knows she’s got her heart set on one of those fancy-ass Ivy League universities after she graduates. And he’s got no doubt she’ll get in.

But they’re working in the evening. Trying to, anyway. They have a bunch of calculations to get through in order to finish the blueprints for their model. And Claire, who’s usually the sharp, focused one, is staring blankly at the page like she’s waiting for it to dance.

“Claire?”

She flinches. “What? Sorry.”

“You still on earth? Kinda zoned out there, Claire.”

Claire sighs, rubbing her hands over her face. “I’m sorry. I just – there’s a lot going on.”

She sits back in her chair, and Brad’s stunned to see her eyes glittering with unshed tears, her face tight with the strain of holding them back.

For the first time, he sees the lines on her face, the clear evidence of stress. She works hard at everything. He’s never seen someone so determined to get everything right. And that’s the weird thing – she _does_ get pretty much everything right. So why the hell does she stay so uptight?

He can’t explain it, but he has to do something. Has to. He can’t bear to see the smartest girl he knows in tears. He doesn’t understand it, but he doesn’t have to. She works too hard. And if she’s not going to take care of herself, he’s going to fix it.

“You know what? We’re takin’ a break.”

She stares at him like he’s speaking Czech. “We’re what?”

“You heard me. We’re takin’ tonight off, Claire.” He slams the book shut for emphasis. But not too hard. She wouldn’t like that. “You need to relax.”

“No, Brad. I need to –”

“_Claire_. You look like you’re about ready to crack. And we’re, like, halfway done and we still got a month. Okay? You can’t keep goin’ like this.” He pushes his chair back and stands up. “C’mon. Let’s go watch TV.”

Despite her initial hesitation, Claire seems to decide he’s right; she trails behind him into the living room. He can hear her parents talking in the kitchen, and sure enough, the living room television’s not in use. “All right, Claire. What are we watching?”

She thinks for a minute, looks at the clock, and her face brightens. “_Buffy’s_ on tonight.”

“What is?”

“_Buffy the Vampire Slayer._ Have you watched it?” He shakes his head, and she gapes. “_Brad_. It’s the best show _ever._”

“Okay.” He grins at her. “I’m game.”

He sprawls on the couch beside her, listening as she chatters excitedly about characters named Giles and Spike and Anya and something called a Hellmouth. All traces of stress are gone; Claire’s suddenly animated and cheerful, her eyes sparkling as she sings along with the theme song. Which, he has to admit, is both fun and badass.

Mrs. Saffitz pokes her head in the room at one point, eyeing them suspiciously. “No science tonight?”

“It’s break night, Mrs. S.,” Brad explains. “That’s a very important part of the scientific process.”

“I’m sure it is.” She gets an amused grin. “Well then. You two behave yourselves, okay?”

Claire shoots her mom a look, her cheeks pink. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Sure thing, hon. Brownies in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

Mrs. Saffitz wanders off, and Claire looks back at the television. “Where were we?”

“We’re fighting demons, I think.”

She grabs the remote and turns the volume up. “Good.”

* * *

Watching Brad work with tools is an illuminating experience.

He gives her his chemistry goggles to wear, and he has his own safety glasses. The minute he pulls on his gloves, his whole demeanor changes. He’s the most focused she’s ever seen him.

“Hey, you pull your hair back, Claire.” She shoots him a look, and he holds his hands up. “I’m not lettin’ you get hurt here. I’d have to do the whole thing, and it’d suck.”

She tugs her hair back into a sloppy ponytail and shrugs. “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” He shoots her a grin. “Looks very nice.”

“Now what?”

“Now you hold that piece still, and I’m gonna start the drill. Be careful, okay? Nice and steady.”

As the power drill whirrs and whines, Claire watches Brad work carefully. His movements are easy and measured; he’s clearly been doing this for a long time, and he handles the drill as easily as breathing.

It’s not like she’d doubted him, but seeing him do what he’s good at is strangely endearing. She feels oddly, stupidly...proud?

He shuts off the drill, brushes off sawdust, and eyes the plank carefully. “What do you think? Pretty good, huh?”

“It looks great.” She’s not exaggerating. The holes are evenly spaced, uniform in size and depth, and since when does Brad Leone work with such precision?

“Damn straight it does!” He grins triumphantly. “Can you hand me that sandpaper there? No, no, the finer one. Yeah. There we go.”

He busies himself smoothing down the board, and Claire pulls off her goggles. After a long moment of silence, he looks up, cocking an eyebrow. “What?”

She flushes. “Nothing.”

“’Kay.”

He goes back to sanding, and Claire wonders what else about Brad Leone is going to surprise her.

* * *

Watching Claire paint the little model planets is profoundly adorable.

For all her calculations and careful math and physics, she sits at the newspaper-covered dining room table, painting Earth blue and green and dipping her little brush into the white paint to brush little wispy clouds across it.

She looks up suddenly, her brow furrowed. “What?”

Brad realizes, too late, that he’s been staring. “Nothing.”

She purses her lips, but seems to let it go, returning to the tiny little Earth. Brad’s not sure what else to do, but then he takes another look at Claire. “Oh, here. Hang on.”

He leans closer to her, reaching one hand for her face, and she freezes, her eyes wide. “Brad?”

“Your hair.”

He brushes a strand of dark hair back from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear, and he doesn’t miss the way she swallows hard, her big dark eyes locked on his.

“Uh.” She takes a breath. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

He finally pulls his hand away and sits back in his chair, and after a moment Claire goes back to painting the little model.

Brad thinks maybe he’s imagining the soft blush on her cheeks.

* * *

Brad’s by far the expert with power tools and general construction, but Claire _excels_ at making display boards. It’s like her superpower.

After raiding the Michael’s store closest to her house, she and Brad settle down to build their display, although she ends up doing most of it. Brad seems content to hover nearby and hand her things. That’s fine with her. This is her wheelhouse.

“Wait – hey, careful!” he chides her as she picks up the hot glue gun.

“What?”

“You picked it up without even lookin’! Jeez, Claire. You _trying_ to burn your hand off?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Brad. I do this all the time.”

“And it’s a real miracle you ain’t hurt yourself,” he grumbles. “Safety first, Claire!”

By the time Claire’s sister comes to tell them it’s time for dinner, they have a pristine, organized board, complete with diagrams, a color scheme, and painstakingly stenciled labels above each section. Jane looks it over, nodding slowly.

“I have no idea what this is about, but it looks nice.”

“You hear that, Claire?” Brad raises his hand for a high-five. “You _nailed_ it.”

She slaps his hand with a grin. “_We_ nailed it.”

* * *

The morning of the science fair dawns clear and icy. Brad hops out of his car and bounds up the steps to her front door, knocking briskly before sticking his hands in his pockets.

Mrs. Saffitz opens the door and beams at him. “Oh, Brad! You must be freezing! Come on in, hon. Where’s your coat?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. S. Where’s Claire?”

“She’s inside, hon. Oh, don’t you look nice!”

Brad grins sheepishly, tugging at his dad’s necktie. His mom had insisted he iron his own shirt, at least. It took longer than he’d expected. But at least Claire’s mom thinks he looks okay. “Uh, thanks.” 

Mrs. Saffitz beams at him and looks around. “Claire? Cl-oh there you are, honey. Brad’s here.”

Claire comes bounding down the stairs, her eyes sparkling. “Ready?”

He grins up at her. “Ready.”

The completed model is on the dining room table, the display board propped on a chair beside it. Brad grabs the model, staggering a little under its weight, but assuring Claire he’s got it. She shrugs and grabs the board, following him out the front door into the freezing December morning.

“Good luck, you two!” Mrs. Saffitz waves. “We’ll come by the fair later. Knock ‘em dead!”

“Thanks, Mrs. S.” Brad shifts the model in his arms as Claire opens the car trunk, and he puts it carefully inside. “Cross your fingers for us.”

* * *

Inside the gym, they set everything up, and then it’s just a waiting game; they’re early, and the judges won’t be around for a while.

Brad’s never been so happy to be at school, especially on a Saturday. He’s seen the other students eyeing their display, and he can’t help noticing that most of their classmates are looking jealous.

Claire, on the other hand, is a wreck. Once they’re done working and there’s nothing to do but stand in front of the table, Claire’s chewing her thumbnail, twirling her hair, looking around with wide, anxious eyes, and she’s way, way too quiet.

She starts pacing back and forth in front of their display, and he thinks maybe this is okay.

After her eighth pass, Brad can’t take it anymore. “Will you calm _down_ already?”

“I _can’t_. I’m so nervous,” she murmurs. “This sucks. My stomach hurts.”

“Relax, Claire! This is gonna be fun. No one else has a black hole. And look how awesome our planets are.” He sweeps a hand over the display. “We kick _ass_, Claire. We’re the best, no matter what.”

She smiles wryly. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

She nudges his shoulder with hers. “Not really, but I appreciate the effort.”

“I’m glad.” He nudges her back. “Why are you nervous, anyway? Even if we don’t win –”

“I _want_ to win.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Apparently. Jeez, Claire.”

Mrs. Jansen walks by, but when she sees them, she stops. “Claire and Brad! Oh, wow. What do we have here?”

“We’re gettin’ sucked into a black hole,” Brad tells her proudly.

The teacher grins as she peers at the little model planets. “Sounds pretty exciting.”

“It is.” Brad’s happy to see that Claire’s eased up. A little, anyway. He can still see her blood pressure slowly creeping towards the roof. But she’s at least able to spare a smile for their teacher as she adds, “We had a lot of fun making this.”

Mrs. Jansen folds her arms. “It looks like a functioning model. Is it?” Claire nods. “So show me how it works.”

“Well, it’s a hypothetical simulation,” Claire explains. “We’re examining what would happen if a there were a black hole at the center of our galaxy in place of the Sun.”

Brad stands by, arms folded, watching as Claire shows off the model, and their teacher pokes the planets, watching them slide along their individual orbits, eventually slipping into the center, where they fall inside the fabric-covered slot to disappear inside the black hole.

“I see, I see.” Mrs. Jansen pauses, looking at one extra orbit, but instead of a planet on it, there’s – “And what’s with the little Lego man? Is that – an astronaut?”

“That was Brad’s idea,” Claire explains, shooting him a soft, amused look. “He was convinced there needed to be a ‘human element’ to it.”

“You gotta show the personal side of things, Claire!” Brad tosses his hands up. “Gotta connect with the _people_. Otherwise there ain’t no emotion in the story.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Brad, if this ‘story’ came true, we’d all be dead anyway.”

“_Exactly_, Claire.”

Claire opens her mouth, shuts it, and finally just turns back to their teacher. “So that’s our project.”

“I see.” Mrs Jansen nods slowly, looking back and forth between them. “This is outstanding. Absolutely outstanding, you two. I’m very proud of both of you.”

* * *

When the judges hand them their first-place medals, Brad’s pretty sure he’s never been so proud in his whole fucking life. He can hear his sister whistling, and his mom is beaming at them.

But then Claire turns to him, her face glowing, her eyes sparkling. “Brad! We _won!_”

She throws her arms around him in a fierce hug and he stumbles backwards a little under the sheer force of it. But he catches himself, holds her tight, lifting her up off her toes because he’s so much taller than her, and she laughs.

Sure, the medal’s nice.

But this is a thousand times better.

* * *

On the last day before Christmas break, Brad walks into science class to find Claire’s desk empty.

No one seems to know where she is, so after school, he calls her house. “Oh, she’s sick, dear,” her mom explains. “She’s not been feeling well. Actually, she’s asleep right now. Did you want me to give her a message?”

He doesn’t know what to say to Claire’s mom that won’t feel stupid.

“I, uh – nah, that’s okay. Just hope she feels better.”

* * *

Over Christmas break, Brad thinks about calling her again.

Thinks about it more than once.

He actually _does_ call one time, but no one picks up, and he hangs up before the answering machine can click on. He doesn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t come across as stupid. He struggles for words at the best of times, and the thought of cheerful, knowing Mrs. Saffitz listening to him stammer for ninety seconds trying to tell Claire hello is just too much to take.

Christmas comes, and family stuff, and between that and working on his car (and, if he’s being honest, he’s just a coward), he lets it go. He’s got time. He’ll see her in January, and then by the time tickets are on sale, he’ll have worked up the nerve to ask her to prom.

Right?

* * *

When Brad walks into science class in January, Claire’s desk is empty again.

Mrs. Jansen explains that she’s moved back to St. Louis. Something about her dad’s job, a sudden transfer.

He tries her phone number, but it’s been disconnected. She’s already gone.

* * *

After all the time they spent together, all those hours bent over their charts and graphs, working and laughing, he has one photo of her.

It’s the two of them in front of their science fair display, medals in hand. Brad’s arm is around her waist, holding her close against him, and she’s beaming at the camera in sheer delight.

It’s all he has, so he hangs on to it.

* * *

_2013_

_Lower Manhattan_

It’s another busy day in the test kitchen, and Brad’s halfway through the day’s produce delivery when Chris pokes his head into the walk-in. “The new chef’s here.”

“Oh, great.”

He wipes his hands on his apron and follows Chris out into the kitchen, tossing his jacket on a chair nearby. There’s a petite, dark-haired woman standing near the proofing ovens talking to Adam, but she’s facing away from him.

Adam catches sight of Brad and beams, waving him over. “Oh, good! Someone here you need to meet.”

“Sure thing, Adam.”

The new chef turns around to look at him, and Brad could swear his heart actually stops in his chest.

Because it’s been years. But he’d know those soft, liquid dark eyes _anywhere_.

“_Claire?_”

Her brow furrows in confusion, but then her eyes go wide, and he sees the split second the light bulb clicks on for her.

“_Brad?_”

It’s not even conscious thought; he takes a step forward, she throws her arms around his neck, and he hugs her tight. She’s warm and soft and _familiar_. It’s been so long, but it feels like just yesterday, and how is it possible that everything’s turned upside down in the twelve seconds since he walked in and found her here?

“So _you’re_ the new chef?” She nods at him, and he laughs. “Holy shit. What a small world, hey?”

“It really is.”

“Okay then,” Adam laughs, and they pull apart to find him eyeing them. “So you two have met, I take it?”

“We went to high school together,” Claire explains, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks are flushed, her smile even brighter than Brad remembers. “For a little bit, anyway.”

“Not to brag, Rapo, but we won the science fair.” Brad thinks it’s important to add that bit. “Claire here’s a wizard.”

“We made a good team,” she concedes.

Adam looks delighted. “I _knew_ you were both winners. Well, welcome to the kitchen, Claire. Brad, I assume I can trust you to show her around?”

“You got it.”

* * *

On Friday, Claire calls home to tell her parents about her first week.

“So how’s this Bon Appétit office?” her mother gushes over the phone. “How’s work? Do you like it so far?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s great.” Claire leans back against the couch cushions, scratching Felix behind the ears. “Actually – I couldn’t believe this. Do you remember that boy from high school in New Jersey? The one I did the science project with?”

“Oh, of course! What was his name again? – the tall one?”

“Brad.”

“Right! Brad. Such a nice boy.”

“Yeah, well, he’s _here_. He’s the kitchen manager.”

“Are you _serious?_” Claire grins, shaking her head as she hears her mother lean away from the phone, yelling _Jeff! Remember Claire’s friend in New Jersey? That tall boy? He’s in the kitchen there now!_

“Mom? You still there?”

“Of course, honey! I’m so glad to hear it. I always liked him. How’s he doing?”

“He’s great.” Claire chuckles. “He’s in charge of the entire kitchen, Mom. But as far as I can tell, he’s been doing really well.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Sauci sounds delighted. “You tell him we said hello, okay? Your dad and I always liked that boy.”

_Boy._ He’s…definitely a man now.

Not that she’s going to go into detail about the muscle he’s put on, the arms that…well.

“Yeah, Mom. I’ll tell him.”

* * *

Claire knows everyone changes after high school.

But Brad – he’s still _Brad_.

He still has the weird sense of humor, the inability to pronounce words, the quick grin and boundless enthusiasm for literally anything and everything. He can still make her laugh at the drop of a hat, no matter how tired or stressed she is.

But now? He’s _dependable. _All that shifting, undirected energy she remembers is focused now. He’s found a purpose. He’s found something he’s good at. He loves cooking and he loves people and he’s combined those traits and found a calling that’s perfect for him.

Seeing him so competent, so satisfied, warms her heart and fills something that’s been quietly missing ever since her family left New Jersey so suddenly and she thought she’d never see him again.

She wonders, sometimes.

It’s probably nothing, she knows. She’s just one more girl he briefly knew, the science fair partner the teacher assigned to him, and they can laugh over old times but there’s nothing special about it.

But sometimes their eyes meet over a kitchen island for no reason at all, and then he smiles at her, and she can’t deny the soft warmth that floats through her, the answering smile she can never resist giving him.

It makes her think about those mundane, unremarkable little memories. Sitting in the dining room. Discussing the science fair over snickerdoodles. Wincing as he fired up the power drill. Once she’d opened her planner – her ‘book of life’ – to find that in the space each day that week, he’d painstakingly doodled a little cartoon elf wearing a different hat. And where she’d written _science fair prep w/ Brad_, he’d written next to it _(the coolest person Claire knows)._ Her mom had seen it and spent the next week teasing her about it.

When they left New Jersey and she’d realized Brad Leone was now become part of her past, she’d tucked everything away, folded and boxed up her feelings in a haze of Avril Lavigne and hastily swiped-away tears, even as she tucked her science fair medal into the box with her most precious personal belongings and set it on the seat next to her for the long car trip back to St. Louis.

* * *

Claire is a well-educated, experienced, highly professional chef.

But chocolate work is _hard_.

She’s determined to figure it out, though. She scrolls through endless websites, digs out dusty old cooking volumes, pages through notes about cacao and thermal reactions and the chemistry behind it.

There’s an editorial deadline coming up, so she puts in long hours, hovering over test batches into the evening hours, trying to find results with the kind of consistency she feels comfortable putting in print for others to try.

It’s another long, busy afternoon that’s turned into an evening, and she’s lost track of how long she’s been sitting in the office reading another massive volume about chocolate. It’s quiet and calm, soft golden sunlight streaming through the windows. As tired as she gets, she has to admit, it _is_ a great view.

She’s absorbed in the book, taking notes about application and chocolate blends, and she doesn’t realize there’s anyone else around until suddenly there’s a tap at the door.

She gasps, one hand coming to her chest as she whirls around to find Brad leaning in the doorway. “_Brad!_”

“Sorry, Claire. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He grins at her. His eyes are so intensely blue; sometimes she finds herself staring, and right now she’s too tired not to. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just, you know.” She waves a hand at her book. “Trying to figure it all out.”

“Sure you are.” He smiles at her fondly, the kind of smile that makes her heart take a quick tumble in her chest. “Don’t tell me you skipped dinner again.”

“Oh –” She fumbles for her phone. “What time is it?”

“_Claire_. Honestly. You still don’t know how to take breaks, do you?”

She lets out a soft breath, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she ducks her head. “I just lost track of time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Some things don’t change.” He holds out a hand. “If you can tear yourself away from that fuckin’ page-turner, I got a pretty good-lookin’ pizza dough that’s just about ready to get made up. You hungry?”

Even the thought of it makes her mouth water. “I’m _starving_.”

She follows him into the kitchen, where he starts whacking a circle of dough, asking what kind of cheese and toppings sound good.

By the time she waves goodnight as they take their separate subways after the most delicious pizza she’s ever had, Claire’s come to the soft, comfortable, nearly-unconscious realization that even now, after all this time, Brad’s got her figured out.

* * *

Brad’s elbow-deep in a huge batch of radicchio one morning when Claire walks up to his station, hands clasped, looking up at him through soft dark lashes, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Hey Brad? Are you busy right now?”

Yes. He is.

“No, not really. You need something?”

She explains the specific alterations she needs for the attachment she wants on the stand mixer, and he grins. “Sounds like we’re bustin’ out the power tools, yeah?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“That’s my _specialty_, Claire.”

She follows him as he goes for his toolbox. “Yeah. I remember.”

It takes him a few minutes, some duct tape, several holes through a thin strip of metal, and a little bit of lucky guessing, but he ends up with something that seems to please her. “That’s it! It looks perfect.”

He affixes it carefully to the mixer and gives it an experimental poke, and he’s pleased to see that it holds steady. “I think we’re in business, Claire!”

She beams at him, brushing a gentle hand on his arm, and any resentment he might have felt (he really didn’t) at being interrupted is long gone because he just can’t say no to her. “Thanks, Brad.”

“Anytime, Saffitz.”

He mimics blowing smoke off his drill as he walks away, and the sound of her laughter follows him across the kitchen.

* * *

One afternoon, Claire finds herself in the walk-in with Carla, sorting through a huge pile of produce. She likes Carla. Carla is perceptive and clever and hilarious, and she takes no crap from anyone.

“You and Brad went to high school together, right?”

“Hmm? Yeah,” Claire says, turning over a stalk of celery. Looks like it’s still good. “For a little while, anyway.”

“I know it’s none of my business, but – were you guys – was there anything between you?”

“You mean – did we date?” Claire flushes hotly even in the chill of the walk-in. “No! No, no. Just friends.”

“Ah.” Carla seems satisfied and goes back to her list, but Claire’s feeling antsy, because where the hell did that question come from?

“Why?”

Carla shrugs. “No reason. Just curious.”

* * *

Editorial deadlines looming mean longer hours in the kitchen, finalizing recipes. It’s a publishing thing, and Claire’s starting to see how the publishing calendar works in the culinary world.

Tonight, it means she and Brad are the last ones left in the kitchen, finishing up a dozen different batches of bread.

It’s not so bad, really. This way they’re not tying up ovens that everyone else is trying to use, and Adam’s already told them to finish up tonight and take tomorrow off. Babysitting temperamental dough can be a hassle, but everything’s going okay so far; dinner is leftover beef stew Molly set aside for them, and as always, Brad’s got her laughing and smiling as they check on their multiple baking times, until finally it’s just waiting for everything to finish.

It’s been a long day, and Claire wants to stay close to the ovens, so eventually they’re both on the floor, legs stretched out as they lean back against the cabinets. Brad’s halfway through his second beer, and Claire’s got a glass of the excellent red wine someone opened for a test batch of bordelaise sauce.

He says something stupid, some lame joke about waiting for bread to rise and grass to grow, but she still laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her cheeks are rosy, and he’s not sure if it’s just the wine.

It hits him again, for the millionth time, just how much she both is and isn’t the girl he knew in high school. Sure, she’s a superstar now – went to Harvard, went to Paris, did all that cool shit he always knew she was destined to do – but she still has that quick smile, those beaming eyes, that irresistible giggle that brightens the whole kitchen.

(One thing that’s changed, though, and it amuses him to no end, is just how thoroughly she’s no longer a morning person. The girl who once thought nothing of meeting at 7am to talk over a science project now groans about getting to work before 9.)

She’s still stubborn, still determined to pick a thing apart until she understands every element and she can put it back together even better than it was. But now she’s more confident. Still sweet, but steadier. Determined.

And if he’d thought she was cute in high school, she’s _beautiful_ now. When she smiles, her eyes light up, her whole face softens, and he’s pretty sure he’d destroy literally any piece of kitchen equipment she wanted, just because she asked nicely.

He’s had just enough beer that he’s feeling a little bit maudlin, and he has to remind himself to keep it together. No need to let everything come flooding out just because it’s late and he’s tired and her shoulder is so warm pressed against his and he’s desperate to know if her hair feels as soft as it looks.

“Sometimes I still can’t believe it, you know? All this time. And then suddenly we’re both here.” She shakes her head slowly. “Crazy.”

“Fate.” He shrugs. “It’s the universe, Claire.”

“Must be.” She turns her head to look at him, and her eyes are so soft, shining with the kind of fond affection that takes his breath away. “You’ve done really well here, Brad.”

He shrugs, nudging her with his shoulder. “So have you.”

Claire wrinkles her nose. “No. I mean – I mean I like what you are, you know?”

He doesn’t get it. “Not really following, Claire.”

“You’re good at this stuff.” She waves her free hand, gesturing vaguely at the kitchen. “You _fit_ here. You were so restless in high school. It seemed like you were just looking for what you were meant to do.”

He’s never thought about it so clearly, but it echoes with him. He was a restless teenager. And there’s some part of him that feels more settled here, stronger. More satisfied than he’s ever been.

“Yeah, well, _someone_ –” he fixes her with a meaningful look – “once told me I wasn’t stupid, and I better stop acting like it.” She blushes, looking away, and he grins. “That stuck with me, Claire. More’n you know.”

* * *

Claire had never really forgotten Brad Leone.

But he’d ended up on the shelf of memories, a face she thought of with wistful fondness and just the whisper of _what if_.

Seeing him again that first day was a shock.

Of course, compared to the lanky high school boy she remembered, this Brad – 6’4”, solid, broad-shouldered, muscular arms – is an entirely different man to look at. And she can’t say she hasn’t found herself staring. And maybe blushing.

_If high school Claire could have seen how he’d turn out_…

She bites her lip, looking down at her wine glass. This is probably a bad idea. Drinking alone with him, in the quiet of an otherwise-empty kitchen. She’s feeling too open.

She knows she should just swallow it down, tuck it all back where she put it when she was seventeen, but apparently her mouth has rejected this logic. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

She hesitates for a long time. Is this going to sound too accusatory? There’s a delicate, fragile bubble around them right now, and she’s terrified that if her words are too sharp, it’ll burst, end up in a thousand pieces that dissolve into the air and float off.

“Claire?” he prompts, and she decides to just go for it, because despite the warmth and ease of their current friendship, she’s always wanted to know.

“Why didn’t you call?”

He looks surprised, and she knows how soft and shaky her voice sounds, but it’s too late to take the words back. “You mean –”

“Over break.” She feels stupid, bringing it up after all these years, but a part of her has never stopped wondering _what if_. “After the science fair. You never called.”

“Neither did you,” he points out.

“I –” Claire sighs. One more thing she’s always regretted. “I thought you must not want to talk to me. And then we moved, and it was so hectic, and by the time we got settled, I’d lost your number.”

She remembers climbing into the car, ready to leave. Looking across the road, up and down the street, for someone she knew wasn’t there. But he hadn’t talked to her since before school ended. She’d thought she must have misread, it was all nothing, maybe it was just a fun science project and nothing else for him.

She’d felt stupid for thinking there might be something more between them. So she’d let it go.

* * *

Amid the soft, easy atmosphere of a quiet kitchen and a few drinks, Brad realizes, they’ve stumbled across something they both needed.

“I called once, but no one answered.”

“You didn’t leave a message?” she asks in a small voice, and it’s not _her_, not the brilliant, confident woman she is now. It’s wrong.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admits. “Kept telling myself I’d see you the next month, you know? I figured we had time.”

She looks down at her hands, and this is new. Claire’s never flinched from meeting his eyes. Not then, not now. “But we didn’t.”

Brad shakes his head slowly. “I wish I’d tried Or – I dunno. Done something. Left a message, at least.”

“You do?”

He’s feeling reckless right now, and her question is cautious but he’s never been that. And it’s starting to feel like this has all been unfolding deep in his chest since he was eighteen. 

He sighs. May as well just get it out, right?

“I had such a big crush on you.”

Her eyes go wide at that, her mouth open in shock, and he has to look away, even as she takes in a soft breath. “Really?”

He nods. It’s too honest, but he’s had just enough that he can’t help himself, like now that he’s said it, he has to let out all these things he’s kept locked up since the day he walked into the classroom and saw an empty desk before he even knew she was gone. “Yeah.”

“Brad –” Her voice is soft. Breathless. “I didn’t – why didn’t you say something?”

“Dunno.” Brad shrugs, staring down at his hands because he can’t look at her right now when he doesn’t know what he’ll see. “Never got up the nerve. I was gonna ask you to prom. But then you left.”

“Oh, Brad –”

“And I knew I’d never see you again.”

“_Brad_.”

Her voice is thick and heavy and he doesn’t know how to respond. He feels off-balance around her, like all the confusion and clumsiness of his teenage self has reappeared and left him reeling. And now the cute girl he had a thing for, way back then, is this sweet, smart, charming woman with big dark eyes and a smile as bright as the sun and he just doesn’t have any resistance when she looks at him like she does sometimes.

This was a mistake. He clears his throat, trying to shake off whatever sudden insanity has possessed him to confess it. He’d told himself he was long over it. And now he’s gone and made her uncomfortable, dredging up feelings that he should just leave in the past where they belong. He’s ruined everything. _Just had to keep talking, Brad. Fuckin’ idiot._

He’s trying to figure out how to salvage it, how to walk it back and convince Claire that it’s okay, it’s fine, they’re just friends and they can still work together, even as he hears the clink of her setting down her wine glass. She turns to face him, shifting to settle on her knees, and he knows she’s going to tell him to back off, she needs space, she doesn’t –

But before he can find a way to fix it, he feels her hands on his face, turning him to look at her, and then she’s kissing him.

It’s like wildfire, the sudden shock that runs through him, but before she can pause or pull back, he pulls her closer, burying his fingers in the silky strands of her dark hair like he’s always wanted to. Her mouth is soft and warm on his, and he can taste the hint of red wine on her tongue.

The kiss ends as quickly as it began, and he cups her cheek gently in one hand. She swallows hard, her eyes huge and dark, and she breathes a soft “_Oh,”_ as she curls her fists in the worn fabric of his t-shirt and kisses him again, and again, and again.

* * *

By the time the oven timers start ringing, they’re both panting, and he’s pleased to see that her cheeks are flushed, her lips soft and swollen from kissing him.

“Guess we gotta take care of that bread, huh?” he manages. His voice comes out a little strained, but she beams at him, he hands still pressed against his chest.

“I guess so.”

She clambers off his lap, tugging her shirt back down, and offers him a hand to pull him up.

Between the two of them, they finish up the bread pretty quickly, pulling the finished loaves out and setting them aside for beauties in the morning, wiping the counters down and depositing the pans for washing.

Brad’s wiping down the last counter when Claire plucks the towel from his hands and tosses it with the others. She sets her hand on his arm, looking up at him with those big dark eyes, and he’s absolutely sure he’s lost as she grabs a handful of his apron and tugs him down for a kiss.

“You want to come over?”

He grins against her mouth, stealing one more soft kiss. “Lead the way.”

* * *

They end up the only two in the subway car heading north to her place, and Brad settles beside her, backpack by his feet. Claire reaches for his hand almost without thinking about it, twining her fingers gently through his, and it hits her, not for the first time, just how _big_ his hands are, how strong and carefully-defined.

Heat floods her cheeks and she bites her lip as she thinks – not for the first time, but the first time she’s _let_ herself think about it – about just how skilled he is with those hands, how careful and patient and controlled, and just what that might mean for her right now.

She buries her face against his shoulder, feeling the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt under her cheek. He shifts in his seat, brushing her hair back, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head. “What are you thinkin’ right now?”

Claire hums against him. Maybe she should hold back on exactly what she’s been thinking about his hands, at least until they’re somewhere more private. “Just – if I knew, back in high school, how great you were going to be –”

Brad chuckles at that, squeezing her hand warmly in his. “Right back atcha, Claire.”

He raises her hand, turns it gently to press a kiss to her palm, flicking his tongue teasingly over the flutter of her pulse point, and she flushes hotly, her mouth going dry. He lets her hand go slowly, and she watches his eyes go dark, his gaze dropping to her lips.

“Brad?” She feels hot all over, and she can’t stop thinking about grown-up Brad with his grown-up arms and hands and mouth and all the grown-up things he can do to her.

“We almost there?” His voice is rough, and he’s already pulling her in.

“Almost,” she murmurs against his lips.

* * *

Outside her apartment door, Claire pauses to dig her keys out of her bag, and Brad can’t resist the urge to crowd her a little, sweep her soft dark hair off her shoulder and press soft kisses to the pale line of her neck. She gasps, her hands faltering. “Brad -

“Yeah.” He steals an arm around her waist, pulling her against the line of his body.

“Not helping,” she manages.

“Better get inside, Claire,” he whispers against her skin, catching her earlobe with his teeth. “Or else it’s gonna be right up against this door.”

* * *

The next morning, Claire wakes to find sunlight streaming through the curtains and the other side of the bed empty.

She slips on her robe and pads softly into the kitchen, where Brad’s standing in his boxers, his hair mussed, beating eggs in a bowl with a fork as bacon crackles in a skillet on the stove.

She clears her throat. “Hey.”

He looks up, and when he sees her, his face lights up with that soft, crinkle-eyed smile he gets, the one she’s starting to realize he really just reserves for her. “Hey, you.”

Brad sets down the eggs, turns down the burner under the bacon, and leans in to kiss her soundly before handing her a cup of coffee he’s clearly already poured for her. “Morning, beautiful.”

He turns back to the stove, fussing with the butter he’d dug out of her fridge, and Claire gasps softly, covering her mouth.

“Oh, God. Did I –”

She reaches out a tentative hand towards his shoulder, setting down her coffee and stretching up on her toes to get a better look, and sure enough, there are long scrapes on his back, along with little red half-moons the exact size and shape of her fingernails.

“Yeah, you took a piece outta me.” He grins, a little dirty, and she flushes hotly. “But look at you.” He tugs aside the neckline of her robe, tracing the line of her collarbone with careful fingers, and she catches her breath. “Look at you, Claire. Got some real nice hickeys here.”

There are plenty more, she knows. And she can already feel the rasp of irritation from his beard, from her throat, to her breasts, to the inside of her thighs.

She runs her hands over the broad expanse of his bare chest. “Good thing we’re off work today.” The thought of walking into the test kitchen covered in the physical evidence of exactly what she let Brad Leone do to her last night is just not something she’s ready to process.

“So I was thinkin’,” he starts casually, sliding his hands over the curve of her hips. “_You_ need coffee. And we should eat breakfast.”

“I’m starving.”

He kisses her cheek, her ear, drags his tongue over the soft reddish-purple mark he left at the base of her throat. “You should be.”

* * *

It’s not until hours later, as she’s curled up on the couch with Brad watching the pilot episode of _Buffy_, that Claire finally pieces it together: she finally got the hickeys she’d always wanted from her high school sweetheart.

When she points it out, Brad grins at her, tugging her closer to press a soft, sloppy kiss to her shoulder.

“Damn straight, Claire. We got ten years to catch up on.”

She snuggles up against his chest, feeling the warmth and soft thud of his pulse, steady against her cheek, and feels quietly, intensely grateful that the medal tucked in a drawer somewhere in her parents’ house is only the second-best thing to come out of her high school science fair. 


End file.
